

r 


r v>^ XL vi o 


A 


Pauline Frances. Camp 







"1 



PS 

3505 



A5^5?^ 





Class _^ S d^OjS" 
Book .^4gSy^S 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



POEMS 



By 
PAULINE FRANCES CAMP 







BOSTON : RICHARD G. BADGER 
1904 



Copyright 1903 by Pauline Frances Camp 



All rights reserved 



uBPARv ^' ooneREss 

Two v^CMS IWttlWfl 

APR 19 1904 

Cotyi'lfM Eitry 

CLASS "> XXe, Ha 

COPY B 






PRINTED AT 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

BOSTON, U. S. A. 



WHATEVER OF GOOD IS IN THIS LITTLE BOOK 

IS DUE TO THE UNFAIUNG SYMPATHY OF THE THREE 

TO WHOM I MOST LOVINGLY DEDICATE IT 



(HcnUntB 









Page. 


Her Name, 7 


Cradle Song, 






7 


The Signal, 






8 


The Merry Side, .... 






9 


Fruition, 






10 


The Flower Circus, .... 






II 


Eventide, 






12 


Little Jack Tar, .... 






13 


A Trust, 






14 


Which? 






15 


In Memoriam, 






i6 


The Moon Ship, .... 






17 


My Picture, 






i8 


Undercurrents, 






19 


Shall Gates Stand Wide? 






20 


Mother Song, 






21 


When the General Danced with Sally, 






22 


Tit for Tat, 






23 


Berceuse, 






24 


Blow, Little Breeze, .... 






25 


or Mammy Coon, 






25 


Love's Torch, 






26 


May, 






27 


Lullaby, 






27 


A Woodland Lullaby, .... 






28 


January, 






29 


April, 






30 


Nathalie's Roses, 






30 


Dawn, 






31 



^-^ 



My Father, 
Wake Up Song, 
My Little Lad, . 
In the Lighthouse, 
An April Shower, 
What Winter Brought, 
The Secret, 
Brown Eyes, 
Nature's Parable, 
Blue, .... 
A Thought, 
Two Little Shoes, . 
Evening Primroses, . 
Egyptian Afterglow, 
The Two Angels, 
Dorothy, 
Roses, 
Carillon, 

Swing High, Swing Low 
-Dat Li'l Brack Baby, 
The Message, 
April, ... 
Phillips Brooks, 
Two Kings, 
Lost Opportunity, 
Thoughts, . 
To Marjorie, 
Oliver Wendell Holmes, 
In the Cathedral, 
Christmas Bells, 
Corita, 

Pumpkin Pies, 
To Father, . 
Victoria, 
Quaeritur, . 
Mammy's Baby, 
The Artist, 



To spell her name? bewild'ring task, 
Not 'complished in a single breath ! 

Sometimes she wears pride's chilling masque, 
I spell it then, Elizabeth. 

In gracious mood, Queen Bess is she ; 

I would so might it ever be. 

When saucy, Betsy favor wins, 
And whiles she has a coaxing way, 

'Tis Betty then, and Bettikins, 
A fleeting mood, a lack a day ! 

Yet little feet would trip a mile, 

To gain dear winsome Bessie's smile. 

But whisper ! Fve a secret sweet ! 

Last night, beneath the silver moon, 
I chanced the little maid to meet ; 

('Tis easy making love in June!) 
And she taught me another way, 
I spell her name " Sweetheart " today ! 



There's a baby moon, rocking far up in the sky. 
And the night wind is singing a soft lullaby. 
And down, away down, in a mossy lined nest. 
Are five little birdies, 'neath mother's warm 
breast. 

Oh hushaby, little one, sleep ! 

Enfolded in arms that a loving hold keep. 
Another wee baby is rocking to sleep. 



A soft golden head presses dose to mj heart. 
And darldy fiii^ed ejelids jnst drowsilj parL 
Oh hasbaiby^ l^de one; deep! 

The tii^ star randies are lightii^ the wa j. 
For fairies and dves that to Seepy town sfiaj. 
But my babjr's stars are his mother's bfown Qres, 
That love l^^tA his path as to dreamland he hie& 
Oh faosfaafay, little one, sle^! 



The silver iiiOQa4Bby snks low in the 

The c hii p iii g is hushed in the little hrown nest. 

And swiii^ii^ and swayii^ with eyes rin sin g 

fast. 
My little one oosses the border at last. 
Gh hndi thee, mj little one deeps! 



Qnoe when SiMTng's wind-tatxered 
Waved, wIktc Winter fled io^anaas, 

^Kcdii^ theie, a slender fafaie-hreast 
Woond his bi:^;le, dear, victonoos. 

Signal for ^rii]^'s bods to greet her. 

But my heart gsve au s w ei sweeter. 

Grief had sown a seed within it ; 

Sk>w it grew, till tins blithe w aiuii^ 
When began its swift ly-s p r in g ii^ 

Till on Easter's Ufied maffmi^. 
Fair in God's own sonl^^ vefnal. 
Bloomed the flower of Hope, etenoL 



We've a dear pleasant home, cool, shady, and 

neat, 
The fruit is abundant, the flowers are sweet; 
To find such a yard, 
I'm sure would be hard. 
Yet I fear we have built the wrong side of the 
street. 

There's a difference great in the very same day, 
In the air we breathe here and that over the way ; 

For working about, 

Over here wears Flo out. 
While there it seems nearly as easy as play. 

" Will Flo take the baby a wee little ride? " 
The carriage is heavy and tires her side! 

But plump neighbor Harry, 

She just loves to carry. 
And often the place of his nurse she's supplied. 

Are there errands to run ? it wearies her so ! 

" Oh, Mamma, can't somebody else 'sides me 
go? 

But when Mrs. Brown, 
Wants something from town, 

"/■'m not a bit tired, I'll get it," says Flo. 

When the garden wants care, there is pouting in- 
deed, 
" I wish that we never had planted a seed ! " 
Yet over the way, 
I've oft heard her say, 
" Don't you want me to help you ? It's such fun 
to weed." 



If sewing for mamma, dear me, how she twitches ! 
Old Salem had thought her tormented by witches. 

But over the way. 

She'll sew half the day, 
On doll clothes for Nell, with the neatest of 
stitches. 

Over there, she is quick and obliging and sweet ; 
Over here, weights of lead seem attached to her 
feet. 

So what can I think? 
The truth I can't blink. 
We just must have built the wrong side of the 
street ! 



iFrutttntt. 

Across the bare expanse of sky, 

Each tree and vine its sober network weaves. 
Where spring will cunningly apply. 

Her living 'broidery of buds and leaves. 
Living, for every day, they reach 

To fuller life ; each bud, a promise made 
Of gold or ruddy fruitage ; each 

Small leaf, a germ of cooling shade. 

So grief, with crossing threads, along 

Our way, a somber fabric oft entwines. 
That hope, with cheery words and strong 

Enriches, as doth spring, the trees and vines. 
Thou may'st her ally be, and fill 

The spaces with her truths so heavenly wise. 
They, too, are quick with life, and will 

Some day, some where, to glad fruition rise. 



lO 



A little bird whispered to me one fine day, 

Of the funniest, merriest thing. 
In a tiny dell, down by the tasselling corn. 
The flowers had given a circus, one morn. 
In the earliest flush, ere the sunbeams were born, 

With a circle of moss for a ring. 

The music was led by the red *' trumpet flowers," 
The *' blue bells " rang out a sweet chime. ' 

The " flags " fluttered gayly, 'mid all of the din, 

The " four-o'clocks " told when 'twas time to be- 
gin. 

Just one "penny (royal)," let every one in. 
Coined fresh from the " mint " 'neath the lime. 

The animals looked so terrific, I'm told. 

That my little friend ventured not near, 
A " tiger " flower roared, that he cast his eye on, 
And one cage held, oh, such a " Dande-lion," 
And one thing he saw that made him swift fly on, 
A glimpse of the " elephant's ear " ! 

The door next the " green dragon's " cage was 
near shut. 
You could just see the " bear's foot " way back. 
But the whole could be seen of each beautiful 

" horse 
(Chestnut," in color, one sees that, of course,) 
And a " cat-o-nine tails," looking dreadfully 
cross. 
At a "mouse ear " just out of a crack! 



IX 



The traveled " Vine " family showed off in the 

ring, 

Such " climbers " and " creepers," no slips ! 

The famed '' scarlet runners " ran races galore. 

While a fair " columbine " kept the guests in a 

roar. 
Till the " bachelor's buttons " burst oft* by the 
score, 
As they laughed at her sallies and quips. 

But my tale is too long, yet one other thing more : 
Come children and stand in a row ; 

Some morning, ere sunbeams have waked from 
their sleep. 

From my snug, cosy bed, I am going to creep. 

And try at these gay sights to get just one peep ; 
Then up with the hands now, who'll go? 



The twilight hush broods softly o'er the town. 
Day hides her blushing face on night's broad 
breast. 

And one by one, the quiet stars shine down, 
Their w^ordless evensong to earth's unrest. 

Between the hedgerows and where sheaves uprise. 
Faint breezes from the south are whispering 
low. 

While in the dusk, earth, reft of gaudy dyes, 
Like some fair etching lies, the lovelier so. 

Within my troubled soul, at anchor lies 
Inquietude, whose cable never lifts. 

Till one by one, God's mercies starlike rise, 
When far out in the night her black hull drifts. 

12 



Ctttk 3ark ®ar. 

Eyes of the gray of the storm cloud's tinge 
When the sun behind it has touched the fringe. 
The sun whose kisses too warm have been 
On the rose-flushed cheeks and the dimpled chin, 
Burning their fairness ; yet brown as they are, 
Perhaps better so for a little Jack Tar. 

For he is a sailor, this bonny wee man, 
And sails this old ship, on his own private plan. 
He's trig, and he's taut, from his yellow-gold hair 
To his trousers of blue, with their nautical flare. 
And the ship it sails proudly, be journeyings far, 
That owns for a captain this little Jack Tar. 

Oh, many the ports that we make in a day: 
There's '* Hot Peanut Point," that's just over the 

way; 
There's "Red Apple Island" and "Pink Pop 

Corn Land," 
We steer for them all at a wave of his hand. 
And whene'er a squall heaves in sight o'er our 

rail. 
For snug " Candy Harbor " we swiftly set sail! 

And so all the day, all the long happy day. 
My captain commands, and I haste to obey. 
But when twilight glooms and the shrill cricket 

thrums, 
A wonderful change o'er the autocrat comes. 
He cuddles up close, playing no more the czar, 
And is only a dear little sleepy Jack Tar. 



13 



Then doffs he the blue suit, and dons he the 

white, 
And whispering softly a loving good-night, 
He sails off to shores where I may not go too. 
Though I am so loyal, and tender, and true. 
Yet knowing what Pilot has taken command, 
I yield to him gladly, the dear little hand. 



Time, the great sculptor, has for many years 
Entrusted to our home a masterpiece. 

Each day he comes, with step that no man hears. 
To work, with motions slow that never cease. 

And 'neath his skillful tools, it gains most lovely 
grace, 

Sweet, strong, and tender, the dear mother's face. 

Shall careless handling mar his work so fair? 

Or, recking not that we do aught of harm, 
Shall we, in thoughtless mood, add lines of care 

And sorrow, where his touch leaves only calm ? 
Nay, rather, since he leaves it to our charge, we 

must 
Strive ever to be faithful to his trust. 

For Time but moulds in clay, and moulds with 

ease, 

And each rough stroke to do a hurt may serve. 

But some day Death will come, whom no man 

sees, 

And carve in marble every mark and curve. 

What shall avail repentance then, though all life's 

space 
We mourn the lines we graved on that dear face ? 



14 



Gold or silver, friend, you ask me? 

Query often heard today! 
Rather hard to find an answer. 

If you view things in my way. 

In our home, a loving presence 
Keeps a tender watch and care ; 

Grandma's kindly hands, outstretching, 
Scatter comfort everywhere. 

Gently beams her eyes' dark beauty, 
While above her forehead's arch 

Rolls a wave of softest silver, 
Mark of Time's resistless march. 

Nestling close beside her arm-chair 

Is a sturdy little wight. 
Sun-kissed cheeks, and all a-dimple 

Just up to our hearts in height. 

'Neath the little head's soft tangle 
Of the brightest, sunniest gold. 

Peep two roguish eyes of mischief! 
Grandma's darling, two years old! 

Tell me now, which is more precious, 
Yellow gold, or silver, pray? 

Truth the choice is far from easy, 
It must wait another day. 

And your question, friend, I fear me, 

We must on the table lay; 
Rather hard to find an answer 

If you view things in my way. 



15 



3(rt Mtmanmn. 

They tell me it is death, that holds him so, 

As calm and beautiful he lies in silence deep. 

I listen to another voice, that sweet and low, 
Whispers, " For so he giveth his beloved 
sleep," 

And though the waking be not mine to see, 

I know that somewhere still he waits for me. 

Our boy ! although to manhood's stature grown. 
Our boy! whom deathless love has given eter- 
nal youth. 
How proudly have we claimed him as our own, 
His bravery, unblemished honor, and stainless 
truth. 
How eager he, all generous help to lend, — • 
Fond son, devoted brother, and loyal friend! 

Think you, his lips so prone to tender speech, 
The names of mother, father, sister, will for- 
get? 
Think you, that any thing in earth or heaven 
could teach 
That brave, true heart to cancel aught of love's 
sweet debt? 
What though our eyes no longer see his face? 
Our boy still loves us in some better place. 

" Let not your hearts be troubled," words how 
dear! 
One knows our grief, and lifts His hand our 
tears to stay. 
In that fair land, whose border lies so very near, 
Watching with other loved ones stands our 
boy today ; 



i6 



Waiting serene, unchanged, from every sorrow 

free, 
To speak the first glad welcome home to you and 

me. 



Sing, sing, cheerily sing, 

Robin and bluebird and linnet. 
Swing, swing, merrily swing. 
Nest with my little one in it. 
There is an elf, that shall come to thee soon. 
And take thee a-dreaming, to sail in the moon ! 

Chime, chime, ringingly chime. 
Lilies that hide in the grasses. 
Climb, climb, little rose, climb. 
Peep o'er the sill as he passes. 
For the silvery masts of the moon ship rise. 
Far over the hills in the eastern skies. 

Blow, blow, gentle breeze, blow, 

Fill out her sails as she glideth. 
Slow, slow, stately and slow. 

Now o'er the tree tops she rideth. 
Soft streams the light from her glittering prow. 
Gilding the star boats that dip and bow. 

Hum, hum, drowsily hum. 

Locust, that's waked by its gleaming. 
Come, come, little elf come. 
Baby already lies dreaming. 
See, the ship waits for him, speed with him, fleet, 
Hush thee, my darling, oh, hush thee, my sweet. 



17 



M^ l^ittntt. 

When over the hilltops a crimson flush 

Is all that is left of the sun, 
When the shining stars in the eve's first blush 

Steal trembling one by one ; 
Every night as the gloaming falls, 

I sit by my window alone. 
And watch for a picture within the walls 

Of the little gray cottage of stone. 

Sometimes 'tis framed in lush green leaves, 

That autumn will kindle to flame. 
Or circled with gems that the frost fairy weaves 

In her webs, but the picture's the same. 
'Tis a gentle mother, serene and sweet, 

In the midst of her girls and boys. 
Each with an eager tale to repeat, 

Of the day with its sorrows and joys. 

Smiling she watches them press about 

Her face with sympathy bright ; 
Her magical words smooth the tangles out, 

And render the burdens light. 
Never too busy their chat to heed, 

This hour is all their own, 
And she reigns a queen, in very deed, 

In the little gray cottage of stone. 

And I think of the future years that shall be. 

When the lads and lassies have grown, 
When the loving arms that enfold them today, 

Rest quiet, at peace and alone. 
These cherished hours shall be a chain. 

Each link more precious than gold, 
To draw them home, where she waits again, 

The same dear mother of old. 

i8 



A costly thing, my hostess' desk, 
With many a fretted arabesque 

Carved in its paneled oak ; 
Fashioned in days of Louis Quatorze, 
Its spindle legs and griffin's claws 

Dreams of the past invoke. 

A fragrant bunch of violets, 

Double English — the season's pets — 

Blooms in a crystal bowl ; 
A fragile bit of cloisonne, 
A jeweled pen, a silver tray, 

Hint of the charming whole! 

Idly touching each dainty thing, 
I chanced to press a hidden spring, 

A secret drawer outflies ! 
What token of a love, long past. 
Has Fate within my keeping cast ? 

Queried my errant eyes. 

A shining curl of softest gold, 
A little shoe, all worn and old, 

A broken toy — no more ! 
But oh! unseen, what sorrow, tears, 
What buried hopes of future years. 

Crowd in that tiny drawer! 

And I, to envy once gave place 
Where in my hostess' smiling face 

I read no signs of care! 
Now, looking 'neath the surface part, 
I see the arrow in the heart 

That Death has planted there. 



19 



9^ ^SatTB ^tanh ffithr? 

Ifid all the ricfaes God's iore deems 

It good, to send our way, 
A precioiis flawless jewd gleams: 

His Hoiy Sabbath day. 
Tho* oft defaced bj vandal bordes, 

Xang^ can its Instre dim. 
Wilt take tins gift of tlij dear LonTs 

And flings it back at Imn? 

Uprisii^, see, 'gainst ^ring's fair ^kj, 

A worid in i i iiiiiaii i re ! 
(^:and, in tbe heaventy sonBiglit, lie 

Its maibks, white and pme. 
Shan this, tho' lastii^ htde whife, 

Yidd homage to his crown? 
Be Messed beneath his kmi^ smile! 

Or banned beneath his fiown! 

Siall gates stand wide, on God's one day. 

That he c mnnHndf d rest? 
Siame on the man who votes not nay! 

Howe'er excuse be dressed; 
The very stones woold yearn for tof^ne. 

To voice their p ro te s t shrifl; 
The eag^ scream it to their yom^ 

On every rock-boond bin. 

Oh soldier, what woidd be thy grief. 

To see some fool hand drag 
Down in the dost of withered leaf. 

Thy c uuntiy ^s dear old flag^? 
Men ! 'tis God's flag in peril now, 

Fr r-eed and cieedless hate; 
■7r.i'~~ : - ^dp, nor craven, bow, 

Z ;:- s too late. 

90 



Then in the flight of conquered foes, 

We'll pray the city's weal ; 
The clangor of our sturdy blows, 

Shall ring on stone and steel. 
We'll build the arching bridges strong. 

The white-winged ships we'll see ; 
And high o'er all the city's throng, 

God's banner floating free. 



Little one, little one, hastens the night, 

Creep to my heart and rest. 
Lie, little face, like a rose petal bright. 

On the snow of thy mother's breast. 
Nestle, wee hand, in the warmth of its drift. 
What is the burden thy touch could not lift? 

Far have thy little feet strayed since the dawn ; 

Are they not weary, say? 
Tripping a measure with sunbeams from dawn, 

Down, down to the edge of the day. 
Mother's hand holds them, each soft little thing, 
Downy as willow buds, born in the spring. 

Hark! in the dusk there is something a-stir, 

Gauzy wings spread in flight. 
All the dim air is a-flit and a-whirr. 

With tiny folk, chirping good-night. 
Fireflies, set your bright lanterns aglow, 
Light up the dream path where baby must go. 



21 



lihrtt to (Snirral Soiixrli hiilii #ullij. 

The Potomac's broad bosom was starry with 
lights. 

Reflected from Carlyle's wide porches ; 
And aglint were the woodlands and far distant 
heights 

With the hurrying flash of the torches. 
As lackey attended, the gay southern belles 

Came flocking from mountain and valley. 
To join in the revel, so history tells. 

When the General danced with Sally. 

'Neath the muffling folds glistened their flowered 
brocades; 

Powdered beaux vied in eager unwrapping. 
And the stairway rang out with the laughter of 
maids. 

And the click-clack of tiny heels tapping. 
And many a hand felt a kiss on its snow. 

Ere its fair startled owner could rally. 
'Twas a night in ten thousand, that one long ago, 

When the General danced with Sally. 

Ah ! but stately they trod thro' the minuet's maze ! 

She, a slip of a girl with her blushes ; 
(I trow me he longed for the garden's dim haze. 

And the moonlig^ and song of the thrushes !) 
A wee patch frowned blackly from one dimpled 
ch^k. 

On eyes that were tempted to dally. 
Oh, the belle of the ballroom was not far to seek. 

When the General danced with Sally. 



22 



Now their fingertips touch, do they thrill as they 
meet ? 
Does she know what a hand she is clasping? 
Now her petticoats sweep o'er the floor at his 
feet, 
As she bends to the fiddle's slow rasping. 
The soft rise and fall of the lace on her breast. 

Of her heart's quickened beating kept tally ; 
And a glance from his eyes would have told you 
the rest. 
When the General danced with Sally. 

His colors she wore. On her lips glowed the red. 

The white was her slender throat's gleaming, 
In the blue of her eyes shone the stars, so 'twas 
said. 

What wonder she set men a-dreaming? 
The walls of the mansion have crumbled away, 

Yet perchance down some rose-bordered alley, 
Still wander the beaux and the belles of the day, 

When the General danced with Sally. 



5Itt fiir ©at. 

I played a game of authors with sweet Di ; 

The card she asked, she held, the thoughtless 
elf! 
" Now give me one of yours, 'tis rule," cried I, 

" For seeking of me what you had yourself ! " 

Next day, I prayed the maiden for her heart; 

Said she, with blushes shy, in softest tone : 
" To me, in forfeit, with your heart you'll part, 

For asking of me what is all your own ! " 



23 



Off from the shore of Slumber Sea, 

Where the sandman gathers his sand, 
Of cockle-shell boats there is moored a fleet. 
And one of them waits for you, my sweet, 
Waits for the tread of tsvo bare little feet, 
Then hey! oflF for Lullaby Land! 

Each tiny craft, as it anchored lies. 

Owns one little captain true ; 
One little captain, in gown of white. 
Blue eyes and gray eyes and brown eyes bright, 
But among them is never a one, tonight. 

So bonny, my baby, as you! 

The moon up above, so fair and round, 

Is watching her children, the stars. 
I wonder, sweetheart, if she's missed the two, 
That have tumbled down in your eyes so blue, 
They are shinier, far, than the rest of the crew, 
And are brighter than Venus or Mars! 

Now slowly, sleepily, downward creep. 
Two wee cloudlets of softest white, 

White, with a fringe of the purest gold. 

And hide the two little stars so bold, 

Prisoners now, in their downy fold. 
Good-night, my baby, good-night. 

The curtain gleams like a snowy sail. 

As the w ind from the south blows free. 
One more little sailor has anchored his boat, 
And left it at anchor, to rock and float. 
To the silver swell of a night-bird's note. 
Good-night, little baby, to thee ! 



24 



There's something a-rock in the old elm tree, 

Blow, little breeze, from the west! 
"Tis a tiny brown home, with its nestlings three, 
And a mother-bird's downy breast. 
Rock, little nest, in the twilight glow, 
Some one is watching far down below. 

There's something a-twinkle, up in the sky, 

Blow, little breeze, from the west! 
Tis a wee baby star, peeping out so shy, 
From the blue where it lies at rest. 
Shine, silver star, as the twilight dies, 
Some one is watching with velvet eyes. 

There's something a-closing, to wake in dreams. 

Blow, little breeze from the west! 
Something as bright as the wee star's gleam. 
And as soft as the robin's breast. 
Close darling eyes, for the twilight's sped. 
Sleep brings an angel to guard thy bed., 



®r iMmnmg (Emn. 

or Mammy Coon am huntin' in de darkness ob 

de bresh, 
Huntin' fo' a li'l one dat she los'. 

So shut yo' eyes, ma baby. 

Or she see dem shinin' maybe. 
An' she t'ink dat yo' belong to her, ob c'ose. 

Dat li'l coon, he soi' as silk, an' brown as butter- 
nut. 
Eyes lak stars, a-twinklin' in de night. 



25 



How she tell de diff'ence 'tween yo', 
Wen in de dusk she's seen yo', 
Less yo' shut yo' eyes an' draw de latchstring 
tight? 

But if dey shut, ma baby, den yo' need n't be 

afeard. 
Mammy Coon, she hab to let yo' be. 

She lonesome, 'thout her sonny, 

But she 'bliged to trabble, honey, 
'Case I 'low dis li'l coon belong to me ! 



Cicely's fingers wander lightly, 
O'er her silver-stringed kite. 

Though she touch it ne'er so slightly, 
Wakes its song, where once 'twas mute. 

So when press those slender fingers. 
On my heart strings, hushed ere this, 

Other music lives and lingers. 
Thrilling all my soul with bliss. 



26 



mag. 

Mistress May, in fashion olden, 

Plies her 'broidery rare. 
Glinting skeins of green and golden. 

Earth, her sampler fair. 

All day long she's blithely stitching, 

Bud and leaf oiitstart; 
Every barren place enriching. 

With her ancient art. 

Scallops she the garden edges, 

With her rainbow dyes ; 
Blues the green and marshy sedges, 

With a thousand eyes. 

Till at last, her task fulfilling, 

Stands the maiden shy. 
From her lap the colors spilling, 

Blushing sweet good-bye. 



Hulletbg. 

Last night a brown bird flew straight into the 
west, 
Straight into the glow of the sunset's red light, 
And see, he comes back with its fire on his breast, 
Speeding to tell a wee baby good-night, 
Before his eyes close, 
And to dreamland he goes. 

The soft air is full of a blossomy whirl 

Of tiny dreams, fluttering down from the 
trees — 



27 



Each one is as pure and as fine as a pearl, 
And all for a baby, his fancy to please. 
While mother sings low, 
'' Go, little one, go." 

Up, up, in the darkness, the rosy stars flush. 
Like crocus buds, 'broidered on winter's black 
hem; 
And, hark, through the stillness of pine-scented 
hush. 
Each note of the lullaby falls like a gem ; 
Slow, tender, and deep, 
" Sleep, little one, sleep." 

" O dear little heart, press thee closer to me ! 

I love the soft touch of thy head's sunny gold. 
Hedged round by my prayers through the night 
thou shalt be, 
As safe as a lamb in the sheltering fold. 
Thy pillow my breast, 
Rest, little one, rest." 



Who's in the nest, that is swung from the 
branches. 

Swung like a hanging cocoon in the pine ? 
Little gray owl, hooting soft in the twilight. 

Say, dost thou know it, this secret of mine? 
Say, hast thou seen, by the moon's tender beam, 
A tiny brown baby, with eyes all agleam ? 

Gay flash the fireflies (so others call them!) ; 

Ah, we know better, my baby and I ! 
Oft have we seen her, the Lady Moon, hunting. 

With slim, silver bow, in the dim, dusky sky. 

28 



Swift speeds an arrow, and down thro' the dark 
A star falls to earth, like a glittering spark. 

Hist! didst thou hear the wood pigeon's soft 
cooing, 

Drowsily resting on some distant perch? 
Nearer and nearer, a little red squirrel 

Steals from his home in a neighboring birch ; 
Comes he to bring to my darling a dream. 
Close then thine eyes that so brightly gleam. 

Softer and softer the treetops are rustling, 
Slower and slower the pretty nest swings ; 

Mother sings low to her tiny brown baby, 
Slower and softer, she rocks and sings ; 

Till red squirrel slips from the shadows to peep 

Down, down, at a little one fast asleep. 



Out upon the frosty air the joybells fling a 

greeting 
To the little glad New Year, whom all the world 
is meeting. 

A gift with one and all he'll share, 
A book, with pages white and fair. 
Oh ! soul, what record shall they bear ? 

Thine the task to trace on each its meed of joy 

or sorrow. 
Time will turn the leaves for thee, one fresh for 
each tomorrow. 

Oh ! when again the bells ring clear, 
And ends the volume with the year, 
Will it be closed with smile or tear ? 



29 



AprtL 

Once, as Dame Nature donned her springtime 
dress, 
'Broidered with bits of winter's fragile lace, 
vShe peeped into a mirror's polished face, 
To smooth anew some wayward wind-blown 

tress. 
And baby April, seated at her feet, 
His rosy fists o'er-full of violets wild. 
Seeing its shining beauty, fickle child, 
Stretched eager hands in pleading mute but sweet. 
Then caught he on the disc his mother's smile. 
And flashed it to the earth in radiant gleams. 
Like shuttlecock, he tossed it to and fro, 
Laughing to see the pretty play the while. 
Till Nature, weary, frowned at last, it seems, 
And straight his mirth was quenched in 
tears of woe. 



Nathalie loves yellow roses, 

Tawny blooms of saffron splendor, 

Petaled urns, whose gold encloses 

Perfume rare, — and these I send her. 

But for me, a rose should borrow 
Hues and tinges of the dawning, 

When the daybreak of the morrow, 
Blushes redly into morning. 

So we change, her fine compassion 
Yields to me the blossoms fairer, 

Gathering one, in love's sweet fashion. 
Brings me others, richer, rarer! 

30 



Saitm. 

A breathless silence holds the sleeping world, 
When sudden, from some lone and distant glen 
A mavis trills, then harks, then trills again. 
Quick at the signal, his black banner furl'd, 
Night from his starry throne is downward hurl'd, 
And dewy, fresh, on sky and hill and fen. 
Fair morn writes victory with sun-tipped pen. 
Her fleecy robes, with shining gems impearl'd, 
Change swift their opal tints, red pales to rose. 
Then as the wild-bird chorus jubilant thrills, 
A slender sunbeam, like a flashing sword, 
Cleaves the frail mist and earthward goes, 
And once more, gorgeous arch o'er vales and 
hills, 
The heavens declare the glory of the Lord. 



ifflg Jatlfrr. 

I have a Father! 
It needeth not that I should see his face, 
When each new day brings token of his grace. 
Who can deny the power that brings to pass 
The yearly miracle of springing grass? 
Who can withhold allegiance that sees 
The harvest glory of the fruited trees? 

I have a Father! 
O happy soul that claims as son and heir 
The glorious heritage of answered prayer. 
O wondrous love that blunts Death's arrow keen, 
Sheathing its point within Hope's living green. 
O blessed life, whose cloud-capped earthly dome 
Arches the doorway to a heavenly home! 



31 



The sun has pierced with a golden arrow 
The curtain that hides the day. 

" Twit-twitter-ee," sings a tiny cock sparrow, 
A-tih on an apple-bloom spray. 

Bluebirds and orioles, winged jewels gleaming, 

Call to thee blithely, to cease from thy dreaming. 

Forget-me-nots shy all the brooks are haunting, 
Oh wake, little eyes, and spy. 

Cowslips await thee, their yellow flags flaunting, 
A-flush is the cloud-dappled sky. 

Bob-olinks carol, the air full of bliss is. 

Wake thee, oh wake thee, to mother's soft kisses ! 

The brown bees boom in the rosy clover, 
And baby birds chirp and twitter. 

Butterflies, purple and white, float over 
The grass that is all a-glitter. 

Fie ! little sleepy one, wake thee, I say, 

The world is a-tiptoe to bid thee good-day. 



To and fro, in the twilight glow. 

In the trembling hush of the leafy June, 
My little lad and I swing slow. 

Crooning a dreamy, quaint old tune. 
Softly the rockers dip and rise, 

Like a pendulum, steady and true, 
Softly the rh}1:hm of song replies. 

Striving my darling to slumber to woo. 



32 



The moon rays slant with a tender grace, 

On the tangled curls of my little lad. 
Kiss and caress the dear little face, 

Sweetest that ever a baby had. 
Warmly flushed is the dimpled cheek, 

Mouth like a rose, (Oh, rose, be glad!) 
While the blue and the gray for the mastery seek, 

In the shining eyes of my little lad. 

Shrilly the cricket chirps down by the beck, 

The breeze holds its breath, while I gently rise. 
And loosen the small, clinging arms from my 
neck; 

The sleep angel's touched my little lad's eyes. 
I lay him down with a loving prayer. 

Never a fear to make me sad. 
For beneath are the arms, everlasting sure. 

And safe in them rests my dear little lad. 



3tt tlft BIl0lftIj0UBe. 

up the narrow winding stairway, 
Weather-beaten, bronzed, and grim. 

Goes the keeper of the lighthouse, 
In his hand, a candle dim. 

" Master," cries the little taper, 
" Whither do we go so high ? " 

" To the tower, to warn the sailor 
Where the hidden dangers lie." 

" But my light is small and feeble, 
'Twill not serve, alas, to show. 

Where the cruel rocks lie ambushed. 
Lurking like a stealthy foe ! " 



33 



" Though your rays, so faintly glowing, 

Cannot shine far out to sea, 
Keep on burning, brave and steady, 

Do your part, then trust to me." 

In the gloomy tower chamber, 

Twilight deepens into dark. 
Then the keeper to the lantern 

Lifts the candle's tiny spark. 

And far out across the waters, 

Flashing, streaming, goes the light: 

Every crested wave is glittering 

With its radiance, clear and bright. 

And the ships, its warning heeding. 
Steer far from its ruddy glare, 

Entering soon the sheltered harbor ; 
Every heart a silent prayer. 

'Tis a lesson for God's people. 

Is your chance for great deeds small? 
Do your duty, leave the rest to 

Him who marks the sparrow's fall. 

Up then ! rouse your flagging courage ! 

Think not any effort slight ! 
Bravely shining, you may kindle 

Into life, a beacon light! 



34 



An Ajirtl ^i^trntt. 

Pit, pat, pit-a-pat, 
Come the rain-drops tumbling. 

While inside the window stands 
A little lad a-grumbling. 
Through his tears, no smile can win, 
Sorry day for those within. 

Pit, pat, pit-a-pat, 
Sounds the rhythmic measure. 

Blue and yellow, pink and white. 
The flowers dance with pleasure. 
Radiant they, the more it pours, 
Merry day for those out-doors! 

Flash, flash, gleam and flash ! 
Golden sunbeams peeping. 

Flowers nod approval bright, 
Little lad stops weeping. 
Smiles dry tears, — the sunbeams, rain, 
Happy day for all again. 



Violets and crocuses, blossoms of the pear, 
These are what the spring brought, to make my 

garden fair. 
Apple-blooms and cherry, like a drift of snow. 
Covered all the tree tops ; bluebirds whistled low. 

Summer brought me roses, everywhere they 

grew, 
Breathing June's sweet message, fresh and wet 

with dew. 



35 



Autumn came in glory, unfolding to my eyes 
A gorgeous panorama, stained with richest dyes. 

Blustering and frosty, when the flowers had 

gone, 
Came old Winter to me, in the early dawn. 
" Thought you'd miss your posies, so I've drawn 

for you their charms," 
And a tiny, living picture lay within my willing 

arms. 

Oh, there were June's sweet roses, and the crocus' 

yellow gold. 
And springtime's lovely violets did their heavenly 

blue unfold, 
And white of blossom snowdrift — all lent their 

tender grace. 
And smiled in all their beauty from my darling 

baby's face. 



A saucy little breeze one day, 

Ere March had blown itself away, 

Among the trees went suing. 
And which his love, but one could tell ; 
They kept their pretty secret well, 

None knew how sped the wooing. 

Each day he came through early spring. 
And flew to each, on perfumed wing, 

The roguish little satyr! 
But where his tale of love was coo'd. 
Or which the one the gallant woo'd, 

Was quite another matter! 



36 



But soon, as April wanner grew, 

His whispered words grew warmer too. 

And bolder his caressing; 
Till, bending shy, her slender plume, 
A peach tree blushed to rosy bloom. 

The secret thus confessing. 



Brown eyes comes nestling, at close of the day. 

And softly we swing and slow. 
Light have we none, save a glistening ray, 

Where hangeth a crescent, low. 
But yet in each velvety cheek hiding deep, 
I see two wee stars, as they twinkle and peep. 
And whisper their secrets to Brown eyes to keep. 

That's how she knows that the moon is a pie, 

Of sunshine 'tis made and dew. 
Baked for the dear little stars in the sky, 

Oh surely you see it's true! 
For don't you remember, a short time ago 
The moon was as big and as round as an O, 
And nothing's left now but a silvery bow ! 

Brown eyes knows too, when their supper is o'er, 

Before they begin their play. 
How they all haste to the inky, black shore. 

Where floweth the milky way, 
And leaning in clusters, far over the brink. 
From out the big dipper they all take a drink. 
There's a little one, too, for the babies, I think. 



37 



O, Brown eyes is wise as a baby can be, 
And many more things she knows 
About the " Great Bear," whom the frightened 
stars flee. 

As growHng along he goes. 
For see ! in each velvety cheek, hiding deep, 
Are two little stars, and they twinkle and peep. 
And whisper their secrets to Brown eyes to keep ! 



Nature fi Parabb. 

A parable from Nature's store 

Came home to my heart one day. 
As I looked at the gnarled old apple tree, 
With its wealth of blossoms nodding at me. 

That the spring had tossed away. 

Beside it grew a flowering shrub. 

Fresh with sweet April showers. 
And I knew not which was the lovelier sight. 
The tree with its blossoms of pink and white. 

Or the bush wnth its buds and flowers. 

Summer passed, and the glowing fall 

Flung its garlands of crimson and gold ; 
Again down the orchard path I passed. 
And the tree with its ruddy fruit was massed, 
While the shrub but leaves did hold. 

Types of two lives, I sadly thought — 

One to morality cleaves — 
The other a Christian, both fair to the sight, 
But at last, while the fruit of the one gleams 
bright, 

The other bears nothing but leaves. 



38 



Mm. 

What do you say ? You are feeling blue ? 
The world is going awry with you ? 
I'm sorry, dear friend, if such is the case. 
But you've used a right word in a very wrong 
place. 

Why, blue is the color of God's own sky. 

Of the bluebird's wing as it flashes by ; 

Of the violet, bending its modest head 

'Neath the airy press of the Spring's light tread. 

What dons the soldier, fearless and brave? 
What the staunch sailor, afloat on the wave? 
What would our flag be, its stripes and its bars, 
Without the blue shield, with its silvery stars? 

Oh, use not this word, with its meaning so glad, 
For aught that is doleful or gloomy or sad. 
Let it stand for the lovely, the loyal, the true, 
And choose something else for the sorrow and rue. 



Uprearing, dark against the sky, 

The great cathedral stands, 
Its massive walls, and slender spires, 
Its dormered towers, like hooded friars. 

Shackled with ivy hands ; 
And deeply set in arching groove 
Its muUioned windows gloom above. 



39 



To one outside the frowning pile, 

The casement's leaded face 
Has but a dull and dismal seem, 
No colors fair, with softened gleaxn, 

Lend of their tender grace ; 
The passerby with careless stare 
Wists not of hidden beautv- there. 

But once his feet, with rev'rent tread, 
Have crossed the threshold o'er, 

What tints from stained, mosaic panes.. 

What radiant glow of color rains 
Athwart the marble floor ! 

Purple and crimson, rose and gold, 

In myriad jeweled flames unfold! 

O ye I who stand outside God's love. 

Doubting its joy and rest! 
What knov.est thou of the tender care 
That " lays " with promised " colors fair," 

Each life, that's by it blest, 
Yet wouldst thou know? step o'er the line, 
Within, the glorious truth is thine! 



Two little shoes, all shiny and new. 

Two little feet encase. 
Silver b'.:c--clcs and tyings of blue, 

Qasp in a soft embrace. 
Pattering merrily in and out. 

Two little feet speed fast. 
Carrying one Uttle maid about. 

But into my arms at last 



40 



Two little shoes, with their brightness gone. 

Faded the ties' fair blue, 
Buckles of silver, tarnished and worn, 

Changed from their once gay hue. 
Poor little shoes ! on my lap they lie. 

But where are the dear little feet? 
Vainly I list, as the days go by, 

For the sound of their music sweet. 

Ah ! little shoes, you may rest you, rest ! 

The dear little feet are still. 
Never by thee to be softly pressed. 

Quiet they lie and chill. 
Yet hush my heart! for the day will be, 

When again shall they speed them fast, 
And again bring my own little maid to me. 

To rest in my arms at last. 



I walked through the fields one evening 
After the sun had gone down, 

When the dewy coolness of twilight 
Was brooding over the town. 

And all along by the roadside 
Were clusters of starry flowers ; 

Fragrant and fresh, their petals 

Rained perfume in odorous showers. 

Next morn in a glad rush of sunbeams 
I thought of the blossoms so sweet, 

And hastening down to the meadow, 
I sought them with eager feet. 



41 



But alas, though the sunshine was radiant, 
And the grass scarcely bent *neath my tread. 

My beautiful flowers had faded 
And drooped on their stalks, pale and dead. 

When trouble life's twilight has deepened. 
And sorrow broods low o'er our way, 

How many fair promises blossom. 
How often we kneel down to pray ! 

But when the short night has departed, 
And joy makes again a glad day, 

Too oft, like the primrose of evening. 
In the sunlight they fade swift away. 



'Tis sunset hour on Egypt's arid plains. 
Each mighty pyramid, with purpling crest. 
Looms dusk against the glory in the west. 
Swiftly the heaven's beauty dims and wanes. 
Till sudden darkness its rich splendor stains. 
Then slowly, dawn-like, on the shadows rest 
Faint crimsons, violets, tint to tint soft pressed ; 
They brighten, glow, then fade and darkness 

reigns. 
So on the night of many a troubled heart, 
Has shone a gleam whose radiance soon has 
gone. 
And left to cheer the gloom, not one faint 
ray. 
But ah! there is a light will ne'er depart! 
A steadfast light, that shineth on and on. 
Forever more unto the perfect day. 



42 



Eiit SIuio Angela. 

Two angels in our home oft bide awhile, 

To go again. 
The one named Joy (met ever with a smile), 

The other, Pain. 

One comes arrayed in robes of rosy light. 

With sunshine barred. 
The other, swathed in garb of somber night, 

With tears, thick starred. 

Yet, when Joy gathers up her golden threads 

And goes away. 
The jewel, gleaming on her forehead, sheds 

No backward ray. 

While Pain — whene'er her ministry sad, ends — 

In tender grace 
Turns at the threshold and a blessing sends 

To fill her place. 



A slender little maiden, in a dainty ruffled gown, 
Whose eyes of brown glance shyly to and fro ; 

Her chin is tilted up. 

Like a cloven lily cup, 
And her cheeks have stol'n the poppies' crimson 
glow. 

A hat that's big and shady overtops her bonny 

head, 
To keep the sun out, spreads the circling brim ; 



43 



Bnt die cantioo is in Tain, 
It was donned too late, 'tis {Jain, 
For he's tai^^ed in the cinis beneath the farim. 

Eadi st^ she treads so qaaindj, in her tiny 

bnckkd shoes. 
Takes her farther in the k ingdom of mj heart. 

She is mj qneen so rojal, 

A' : I'm her subject k^al, 
Aug 5 r. r " . . s rrre with a tender, kyving art. 

Oh, giac : : . rogn, may the swiftly pass- 

Witfi tht:: : :-. c, ireight of joj and pain, 

1?- sDiTow at my doors, 

Ls-v :..r r.^zowess at yoms. 

And the bar-, ts: r..: :.i of hcart'sease never wane! 



Enaes- 

Ffaj^Hs in the garden lingeiSy 

Seeking flowers to crown her graces; 
Fragile, kng-stemmed bads she chooses* 

Tucks them 'mid a foam of laces ; . 
Tben, afatho' the hoar is late. 
Wanders to the wicket gate. 

While she tarries in the foaming 

(Marks the passing time with sorrow!) 

Comes a sodden msh of f ootstqis. 
And a voice calls gay good-^norrow. 

Someone, who is fond of posies. 

Pleads for one of PhjrlHs' roses. 



But the little maid denies him, 

Laughing, dimpling, frowning, girding, 
Till that someone softly murmurs 

In her ear some magic wording — 
Bending as the whisper closes, 
Helps himself to Phyllis' roses ! 

Up the oaken stair speeds Phyllis, 
Counts her roses. What a wonder! 

Fragrant, fresh, not one is missing. 

Whence, then, got the rog^e his plunder? 

Can it be — ah ! dare I speak ! — 

He stole the rose from Phyllis' cheek? 



(UnnlUixu 

From slender stalks of spring-like g^een, 

Swaying as the organ swells, 
Stately, fair, the lilies rise 

Like a sheaf of silver bells. 
Listen to the chime they ring, 
As in snowy grace they swing. 

Christ is risen ! this the burden 
Of their sweet triumphant peal. 

Risen to become your Saviour, 
Gracious, loving, quick to heal. 

Is there trouble, grief, or care? 

He will every sorrow share. 

Ring, then, silvery Easter joy-bells, 
Swung by unseen angel hands, 

Ring for all the sad and weary. 
In these broad and mighty lands. 

Christ is risen ! let the chime 

Echo down the arch of time! 

45 



g>fantt9 ^\^f #tmtt0 SInhi. 

Slowly, down in his royal bed, 

The sun has laid him to rest ; 
But a glint of him shines on the little head, 
Where a golden kiss he pressed. 
Sing bye, little baby, go. 
Swing high, little baby, low. 

Cool and gray, o'er the heavens high, 

The curtain of night has crept ; 
But two little bits of the blue, blue sky, 
Dropped down ere the baby slept. 
And hid in his eyes, just so. 
Swing high, little baby, low. 

One fair rose in the casement peeps, 

'Neath the moon and its silver light. 
And to sister blossoms where baby sleeps 
It whispers a soft good-night. 
Sing bye, little baby, go, 
Swing high, little baby, low. 



Sat 5Itl Imrk labg. 

All ober de Ian', w'en de dark come a-creep, 
Dey is rockin' an' singin' de babies to sleep. 
An' dere's one, dat is li'l, an' woolly, an' brack, 
Dat I wouldn't gib up fo' de whole ob de pack! 
She sholy am small, but I ain' carin' much, 
Dere is oder t'ings smaller, as dimon's an' such. 

Her hair mighty kinky an' right hard to part, 
But dat li'l woolly head reach des up to my heart. 
An' she brack, yes, dat so, but den so am de night ; 



46 



Wen de mockin* bird sing, w'at yo* care fo' de 

light? 
An' if yo' believe w'at dis ol' mammy tells, 
Her voice am as sweet as de chimin' ob bells! 

So w'en come de time fo' to let down de bars, 
Gib mammy de baby wid eyes lak de stars, 
Wid cheeks lak de ches'nut dat ripe in de fall. 
An' lips lak de peach, tu'nin' red on de wall. 
Yes, w'en come de time for' rock chil'en to sleep, 
Gib mammy her li'l brack baby to keep! 



Sweet, here's a message for thee ; 

A message from over the sea. 
A wish, hope, and gift. 

May they speed to thee swift. 

A wish : that within thy soft palm, 
Fair heart'sease may rest with its balm ; 
That joys sweet and pure. 
Ever stoop to thy lure. 

A hope : that in sorrow's pale sheaf. 
Help go hand in hand with each grief, 
That when life shall end, 
Strong thy wings to ascend. 

A gift : 'tis my heart at thy feet. 

Say, what wilt thou do with it, sweet ? 
One word, and the sea 

Brings the giver to thee. 



47 



April, 

A parting gust from blustering boisterous March 

Blows slender April ; trembling o'er the hills ; 

Plaintive and sweet her cry, all Nature thrills. 
Pale violets spring beneath her instep's arch, 
And bluebirds dart from willow back to larch, 

Calling a gay reply in joyous trills. 

Her touch sets free the chattering streams and 
rills, 
'Tween banks, that hotter suns too soon will 
parch ; 

Now weeps she o'er last year's forsaken nests, 
Her tender heart with pity throbs, and pain ; 

Now laughs at thought of other downy breasts 
That soon will make each bare place home again. 
And so, half tears, half smiles, goes on her way, 
To greet with tremulous gladness each new day. 



piplUpfi Sr0oka. 

A gracious presence and a kingly form, 

A face where mingled strength and sweetness 
blend ; 

Deep, earnest eyes that love made ever warm 
With sympathy for sad or troubled friend. 

Who that has clasped his hand in sorrow, pain, 

But fain would feel the kindly touch again ? 

His grand, pure life was like an open book ; 

Who ran, might read its pages white and fair, 
And find in answer to his every look 

The record of a knightly soldier written there. 
No time had he on idle creeds to waste. 
The business of his King required haste. 



48 



Now words of fiery eloquence and zeal 

Like a svyift-flowing torrent onward rushed ; 

Now gently, quick, the smallest woes to feel, 
The sobs of e'en a little child were hushed. 

The poorest, humblest sought him with their 
needs. 

And ever thoughts grew swift to loving deeds. 

Yet one is monarch but of earthly state. 

The other holds the key of Heaven's gate ! 
No shaft of polished marble, cold and pure. 

Is needed to perpetuate his fame. 
Deep in the loyal hearts of rich and poor 

Is found engraved his well-beloved name. 
While helpful words and noble actions done 
A monument make that shall outlast the sun. 



A blare of trumpets, echoing crags, 

A jubilance of song. 
A pageant, gay with silken flags, 

Acclaimings, loud and long! 
A flush of purple, glint of gold, 

With all the pomp and pride 
Of royal state and wealth untold. 

Show where a king doth ride. 

A fragrant hush, a quiet deep, 

Of awe and terror born. 
The muffled sound of those that weep. 

The voice of them that mourn. 
Another pageant, with an edge 

Of sable streamers wrought. 
And stricken hearts, whose grief gives pledge 

That here a king holds court! 

49 



Within the grasp of one, a treasure lay, 
Unheeded and untouched, since every day 
His comrades, Youth and Ignorance, would say 
" Life's scarce begun." 

As years passed on, he did the twain evade. 

But meeting with a pleasant-featured maid, 

A game of forfeits he with Pleasure played, 

And Pleasure won. 

The game was long, she won his jewels fair, 
His eye's bright fire, the ebon from his hair, 
And last of all, she seized the treasure rare, 
Then mocking, fled. 

Her flying robe he clutched with desperate greed, 
" Give but the treasure back ! " '' Thou hast no 

need. 
Death waits beside thee on his wan, pale steed. 
Thy day has sped ! " 



A thought within a busy brain 

Once grew and grew a-pace. 
Until it could no more remain. 

In such a narrow space. 
So springing from the loosened tongue, 

It winged its airy flight. 
In loving, helpful words, that sung 

And made a sad heart light. 

Another little thought as sweet, 
By silence was held fast, 



50 



Till the great Reaper stayed his feet, 

And set it free at last. 
It found its life in flowers rare, 

And tears and tender speech ; 
But they that Death's pale colors wear, 

No lovinsf words can reach. 



'fc» 



Ah! little thoughts, fly forth today, 

A flock of white-winged birds. 
Go full of love, to cheer the way 

As kindly precious words. 
Rest not, inactive, useless, vain. 

Till Death your torches light. 
But shine right now, through sun and rain. 

And make each dark place bright. 



00 Mux\tint. 

What shall I sing to thee, sweet, my sweet. 
To lull thee to slumberland? 

Shall I tell thee of dreams, of dreams that are 
fleet, 

That wait (ere my baby they meet and greet,) 
The beck of a tiny hand? 

What shall it be that thy mother sings, 
As her little one rocks to rest? 

Shall it be of the down of the butterflies' wings? 

Or the nest kept warm, as it sways and swings, 
By a little brown mother's breast? 

There's no time to sing of the dreams so bright. 

And would you know why, my sweet ? 
'Tis that two little eyes are a-closing tight, 
Three kisses I give thee for sweet good-night, 
Cheek, fingers, and wee, wee feet. 

51 



Now thou hast left me, oh baby mine, 

And thine are the dreams so fleet ! 
And the whispers of fairies and elves are thine, 
That dear little wondering smile is sign, 

Oh what are they whispering, sweet? 

How can I leave thee, my wee pink rose ? 

How say good-night, my dear? 
Only by thinking how swift it goes, 
The night with its stars ; then the morning glows, 

And baby again is here. 



mibtr Wfiti^U Ifnlm^jsu 

When from the light of day the tiny silkworm 

creeps. 
Within a shining mesh of silken threads he sleeps. 

So he, whose genial, kindly presence has with- 
drawn 
From earthly scenes, to wait a fairer mom, 

Spun in his lifetime, threads of purest, airy 

thought, 
As delicate and fine as ever mortal wrought ; 

Mystical tales, and curious rhymes and songs of 

ruth. 
Quaint fancies, woven in the warp of homely 

truth. 

Who cons them, to his name a loving thought 

aye gives, 
And in them now enfolded he, though sleeping, 

lives ! 



52 



3n lift QIa%iraL 

She stood within the shadow of the door, 
Around her, pealed the vibrant organ's tone; 
Above, the mulHoned windows gleamed and 
shone, 
And flung their crimson stains athwart the floor. 
Her toil-worn hands were clasped, fast throbbed 
her heart 
In longing deep, that hers had been the touch 
To wake to life the grand, sweet chords ; that 
such 
A way to praise her God had been her part. 
And knew not, that her patient life, each hour 
With humble duties filled, and all well done, 
Rose in such melody to Heaven remote. 
Such strains of beauty and of thrilling power, 
That, though unheard, in this cold world, they 
won 
The angels' silence lest they miss one note! 



Qlljrtfitmaja l^lla. 

Again draws nigh the Christmas tide. 
List to the bells, their clanging notes 

Tell of good will to peace allied. 

Glad notes rung out from brazen throats. 

Oh hearts ! ope wide your inmost door 

Let loving thoughts and deeds outpour. 
Ring out, sweet bells, for love. 

Once more ring out, sweet Christmas chimes, 
Ring out for wrongs yet unconfessed, 

That in this holiest of times 

Shall be with loving word redressed ; 



53 



Let friend and foe alike join hand, 
Let hate and envy fly the land. 

Ring out, soft bells, for peace. 

Gay faces throng the busy marts. 
The frosty air with laughter thrills ; 

Yet many sad and aching hearts 
Feel other cold than winter chills, 

A coldness born of empty arms, 

A grief that no loved presence calms. 
What message, bells, for these? 

Oh Christmas tide, your chiming bells 
Ring out a message tender, true, 

" A Saviour born," each glad voice tells, 
" A Saviour born " who lives for you ; 

Oh longing hearts, forget your pain. 

For Christ will bring your own again! 
Ring out, ye bells, for joy. 



Dark hair, 'la Pompadour, 
A gleam of pearly teeth; 

Long lashes, drooping o'er 
The flashing eyes beneath. 

No Spanish donna sweeter 
Than Corita. 

The flush of morning rose. 
On cheek so softly fair. 
Comes and as swiftly goes, 



54 



A color study rare. 
Dawn would as sister greet her, 
Shy Corita. 

A slender, graceful sway 
Of carriage marketh her. 

Sweet laugh and merry play, 
Your pulses set astir. 

The hours pass the fleeter. 
With Corita. 

A velvet hand to hold, 

Yet strong to help and do; 

Beneath, a heart of gold, 
A tender heart and true. 

By these, when you shall meet her, 
Know Corita. 



pumpkin l^iesk. 

Song of violets may be thine, 

Or of roses wet with dew ; 
Mine the song of blossomed vine, 

Vine whereon the pumpkins grew. 
Yellow, baby suns, a-tether, 

'Neath their broad green leaves they lie 
Through the glorious autumn weather 

Till the winter time is nigh! 

Heaped up, then, their gathered gold 

In the wide old kitchen lies. 
Polly's skillful fingers mould 

Flaky crust for pumpkin pies. 
Polly's rule ? Some flour sifted, 



55 



(Snowy arms distracting play!) 
Yellow butter (eyes just lifted 
Long enough to flash my way!) 

Eggs, and cream, and sugar, too. 

Nutmegs, spice, and other simples 
(Rosy lips that laugh at you. 

Cheeks, where hide two roguish dimples,) 
Shining tins, the oven's hiss. 

Then, when most they needed turning, 
Just one little, little kiss 

Given, " to save the pies from burning ! " 
Thus, within my memory lies 
The way that Polly makes her pies ! 



SI0 3^atl|^r. 

Slowly it crept, that shadow gray and deep. 
Beneath whose quiet all must pass some day. 

No love nor care might stay its onward sweep. 
Silent we watched his spirit ebb away. 

Watched till the tired soul claimed glad release, 

And Death's kind hand set seal of perfect peace. 

Oh, that our eyes had seen beyond the dark! 

Had seen the look upon that dear loved face, 
When on his ears, unsealed at last, did hark 

A wondrous voice, of pity, love, and grace. 
" Listen," it said, while rang from heaven's dome 
A mother's cry of joy and welcome home. 

" Listen," oh joyful word I what one beside 
Could hold for him such melody, such song? 

His now the music here so long denied. 
To him his loved one's voices now belong. 



56 



Oh, happy heart, now thrilling through and 

through, 
With harmonies and chords earth never knew! 

What though our eyes with tears are wet and 

dimmed ? 
The words thou lovedst here, our comfort still 

shall be. 
Thou hear'st them now, by angel voices hymned, 
" Nearer, my God, Fm nearer now to Thee." 
Father, 'tis not good-bye, we who earth roam 
Shall hear again, some day, thy " Home, sweet 

home " ! 



What is this news that, flashed from pole to pole. 
Has wrought such sorrow in the listening 
world ? 
That strikes a pang into each heark'ning soul? 
Why are these mourning banners thus un- 
furled? 
'Tis news of earth's great loss and Heaven's gain. 
The mother queen has crossed Death's mighty 
main. 

No looking backward, since a fair young girl. 
Of that great ship of state she took command. 

Through sunny waters, through the tempest's 
whirl. 
She ever held her pilot's guiding hand. 

And first in every prayer, in each appeal. 

Came England's honor, and came England's weal. 

Well may her children rise and call her blest! 
Her children, not of blood, but love allied. 

57 



All over her broad lands, from east to west. 

Her people ! dearer than aught else beside. 
The loving care she gave is theirs no more, 
And yet, be glad, in that her toil is o'er. 

Rejoice, that though her hand has dropped the 
helm. 

The same guide waits to help who takes it up. 
Rejoice, that tho' war's shadow darks her realm. 

She drinks no longer from the bitter cup. 
That, though clouds lower, borne on sullen breeze. 
Their silver lining, shining clear, she sees. 

Oh England, weep not that her life's sweet strain 

Has reached its fair and lovely evensong. 
It means so much to her, ease after pain, 

The going home, where loved ones have been 
long. 
That rest is hers, calm, safe, and deep. 
Of Him who giveth His beloved sleep ! 



The question is not now who made him so, 
Poor slave, but who will loose him. from his 
shame. 
Whose shall the hand be, that shall string the 
bow. 
And placing it in his, direct his aim? 
Who shall uplift that sullen, earthward gaze. 
And strive, within him, a man's soul to raise? 

"A brother to the ox " ! nay, take that back ; 

A brother to us all! our Father's son! 
That he is unlike thee, is from the lack 

Of sweet, fraternal graces left undone. 

58 



Who will redeem the past at any cost, 
And give again the heirship he has lost ? 

No king nor prince may claim the heaven-sent 
task, 

More his than any lesser man. 
No pomp nor power give the right to ask 

That theirs shall be the hand to lift the ban. 
Thyself may enter on the task today. 
Love is the lever ! Who zmll lift it may ! 



Ebery t'ing am quiet in de cabin by de hill, 

Hesh ! now, don' yo' say a word ! 
Fo' a li'l brack-eyed baby am a keepin' mighty 
still. 
An' he mammy's voice am softer dan a bird ! 
An' I 'spec dem curly lashes, whar from he eyes 

done peek. 
Am a-drappin' an' a drappin' on he li'l dusky 
cheek. 

Mammy put he nightgown on, he des as good as 

gol', 

My, now ! ain't dat nightgown w'ite ? 
Look des lak it been a-snowin' on a shiny lump 

o' coal! 
Den he say he pra'rs, an' mammy fol' him tight, 
An' she sing so sof an' lovin' dat I has to hoi' 

my bref ', 
An' de song keep gittin' softer till dere's des a 

whisper lef ' ! 



59 



" Hesh, ma li'l darlin',, shet yo' eyes an' go to 
sleep ! 

By-by, mammy's li'l coon. 
De road dat lead up Sleepy Hill am mighty hard 
an' steep, 
But 'tis lighted by de risin' ob de moon. 
An' he mammy know he tired, an' she help him 

'fore he cry, 
Wid a hesh, ma baby, hesh-a-baby, li'l baby-by." 

®t|^ Arttat. 

Hueless, 'neath Spring's poising hand, 

The mighty canvas lies. 
Meager outlines, roughly planned. 

And dull and wintry skies. 
Slowly moves his brush at first. 

Faint colors, barely seen ; 
Soon with coaxing touches, nursed 

To tints of living green. 
Here a dash of black and white, 

A swallow cleaves the air! 
Now, a line of azure light, 

A bluebird flashing there ! 
Swifter come the strokes, more swift. 

The skies are no more dim. 
Rose and snow of blossom drift, 

He paints o'er twig and limb. 
Cowslips star the velvet mead, 

The freighted bees fly low, 
Silver brooklets shine through reeds 

His brush has made to grow. 
Finished now the picture fair 

Before our vision lies, 
A gift of love, free as the air, 

To gladden weary eyes. 

60 



APR 19 1904 



